


Ressurrection

by galacticLEI



Category: WKM - Fandom, Who Killed Markiplier? - Fandom, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, References to Depression, Resurrection, Suicide Attempt, cursing, the manor screwing everything up as per usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 08:58:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13923765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticLEI/pseuds/galacticLEI
Summary: After Celine left Mark for William, Abe and Damien know Mark isn't taking it well. He's lost his spark, his career in shambles as he locks himself away within the manor. Out of the blue Abe feels particular concern for his friend's safety that he can't explain, and whilst Damien is too busy with his work to help he decides to check up on Mark.It doesn't go well.(If you don't understand some of the shit they are saying it is 1920s slang woot)





	Ressurrection

A persistent knocking echoed throughout the spacious entry hall, left unanswered. Abe gritted his teeth, pressing his ear to the door hoping to catch some sign of life. Nothing. He stood back, running a hand down his face.

“Mark?”

He asked, not expecting a response. The manor stared down at him in an almost judgmental silence. Abe shook his head slightly at the shiver that ran down his spine. He straightened his coat to collect himself. He was being ridiculous, the anxiety that welled up in his chest and clogged his throat has pointless. Mark was fine; Abe didn’t know why this time felt different. Didn’t know why the windows glared at him like eyes, teasing with how they were too opaque to see through. No light shone through them. Abe didn’t exactly want to resort to breaking into his friend's house, especially when there was no good reason. Of course, he was a detective, he could spin some story, and no one would think any differently. But at the moment, all he was going off was the wrenching feeling in his gut. The fact something seemed off. 

Abe knocked on the door once again for good measure. Not even a butler to answer. That would've been disturbing, but a little bird had told him that Mark had been firing most of his employees. The mansion still seemed in an excellent state despite this, to the point Abe almost humoured himself with the idea that in his isolation Mark had begun sculpting the grounds himself, rather than buy a groundsman. Of course, the thought was dismissed as laughable.

He took a step back and examined his surroundings. Abnormally quiet. Mark had been more reserved ever since…. Well, there was no point beating around the bush, since Celine had cheated on Mark, with his childhood friend William no less. Mark hadn't been the same since, starting out bitter and irritable, especially after the loss of his career, before morphing to this silent, emotionless husk. Nothing like what Mark had once been. Abe just wanted to help. He had bet on the fact that Mark hadn’t thought to remove the key hidden under one of the tiles at the manor entrance. The mansion was a large place; the key had been put in place so if a friend wished to see Mark unannounced they didn't have to wait forever outside the door for someone to answer. Often because Mark was doing something idiotic where we couldn't hear anyone knocking and whichever servant whom of which should be on the door was trying to supervise the idiocy. Abe couldn’t help but smile, although it quickly fell. How things had changed, that definitely wasn’t the case now.

Much to Abe’s relief, the key was indeed under the loose tile, just as it had always been before. And yet, it was nothing like before. There was no mischievousness behind being here now, no prank they were pulling or party they were throwing. Only quiet. Abe swallowed, moving back toward the door. He slid the key into the lock.

The door clicked open.

Abe moved into the entranceway, the door creaking inwards. The temperature seemed to drop the moment he entered. He shivered as he closed the door behind him, cold hands fumbling for a light switch. The lights flickered into action, the room appearing the slightest bit less abandoned. Everything was still unnerving, the silence deafening as Abe stood frozen at the door. He sighed, swearing he could see his breath clouding, pocketing the key before shoving his hands in his coat pockets to keep them warm. It had been relatively average outside, but now a chill nipped at his skin. 

Abe tried to ignore his unease, beginning his search of the manor. His clacking footsteps reverberated through the empty halls. He called out a few times, each time there was no response he could feel his worry grow. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He was about to move upstairs, his hand moving from his pockets, numb fingers tracing the cold wooden railing when he stopped. His attention was tugged away from the stairs, something drawing his focus elsewhere. He turned, eyeing down the empty hall that had suddenly gained his interest. His gaze fell on the bathroom door. Something about the sight caused his heart to plummet in his chest. He gulped, moving slow, tentative steps towards it. The manor creaked under his footsteps, adding chorus to his thumping heart. He couldn't begin to describe how unsettled he felt, goosebumps forming along with this unrelenting fear that something was watching him. But he didn't look back as a trembling hand grasped the handle. Abe had experienced many things before, as a detective. Many creepy scenarios, even terrifying. Yet somehow this manor, one he had been within many times before, was currently more distressing than any of that. He slapped himself lightly in an attempt to pull himself together.

In a sudden motion, Abe jerked down on the handle, the door swinging open.

The bathroom was just as large and lavish as what one would expect within the manor, yet it didn’t take long for Abe's eyes to fall upon what he had dreaded he'd see. A lump swelled in his throat until he was gagging in his desperate attempts to breathe. The cold was forgotten, instead replaced with a painful emptiness. His heart stopped, leaving him in agonising silence. His hand gripped the doorframe; his knuckles grew white.

This was not the first time Abe had seen a dead body. It was not the first time it had been someone he'd cared for. It was not even the most gruesome he'd seen, far from it. There was no rational explanation for how unsettling the sight was. How the weight of it crushed his innards, the air gripping his neck in a chokehold, eyes wide open and stung by the cold, by what they were witnessing. 

Mark was sprawled across the centre of the bathroom floor. His head lolled back, blank gaze directed to the ceiling. His face had relaxed, almost peaceful. It didn't mask the apparent tear tracks that had run down his cheeks. His hands had fallen aside from where they had clawed at his neck, evident by the scratching and bruising. His body still, no air entered his lungs, no blood circulated. Abe shakily stepped forward, kneeling beside them. He grasped Mark’s hand in his own. Stiff and cold, as if he were frozen. Abe exhaled heavily, struggling to pull fresh air into his lungs. His friend was dead. He gripped Mark’s hand a little tighter, before slipping away. He slumped down by their side, just staring for a long, helpless moment. Thoughts that even after so many he had seen dead he couldn’t stop. How he should have known. Should have done something.

He gently closed Mark’s eyes. 

Why hadn’t he done anything? Why hadn’t he reached out earlier?

They almost looked as if they were sleeping.

His friend had been driven to suicide, and he hadn’t been there for them! What sort of detective was he?

Abe fell back against the wall.

It was his fault. Everyone around him died.

He couldn’t take his gaze off the body.

He should have done something. He should have done something.

 

The body got back up.

 

Abe felt his heart stop. His breath caught in his throat. He looked on mortified as Mark’s eyes opened. He staggered blindly to his feet, unaware of Abe on the floor beside him. Mark choked and spluttered and coughed and gagged and threw up in the toilet before stumbling, flailing, slamming into the wall. The actions of someone who was alive. Mark clawed at his throat and rasped and spat and tried to talk and he was breathing. Abe hesitantly stood on wobbly legs.

"Mark?" His voice was small. Unbelieving. Mark hunched over and clasped his hands over his face; his body shuddered with sobs.

"Mark!" A little more definitive this time. Although he felt lightheaded, Abe rushed forwards, lightly grasping Mark's shoulders. The man was frail. Their face pale, hair shaggy, clothes wrinkled. They were in hysterics; they hadn't even seemed to notice that Abe was there. Soft, practically inaudible phrases began to spew from Mark's lips. Abe furrowed his brow in concern as he tried to listen. 

“…Too painful…fuck…fuck that-that’s painful it’s too… and- and it lo-ok like it looks… no that… plan… look-looks like su-suicide… self- self-inflict… poison… can’t it can’t… and-and…and pain and it’s painful fuck it’s painful…” Rasped, defeated words. Abe didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to process this. He couldn’t decipher what was being said. Was it a suicide attempt? But he had said it ‘looked like suicide'… Abe waved the thoughts away. Now was not the time for theorising or being a detective. This was his friend.

"Mark, please. Calm down, just take a few breaths. Talk this through." He tried to sound confident and reassuring all the while his mind was whirring. It seemed like for the first time Mark recognised a person was there. He grew still, his words trailing to a stop. Mark tensed under Abe's grasp; his own hands still clasped over his face. Abe tried to think of something to say.

Without warning, Mark drew a hand away from his face to shove Abe away. A frantic, drawled yell leaving his lips, “Ge-et… off…!” His voice wavered as he fell back against the wall, hiccupping and battling tears. 

“Mark…”

“Is… are…? D-Damien? Said wouldn’t… you said- said you would-wouldn’t… bu-sy you wouldn't be h-here…to-today…" He could barely manage any coherent words, his tone slurred. Mark pulled a clammy, trembling hand away from his face, one teary eye peering over at Abe. He looked right through him. 

“Mark, it’s Abe. Damien… Damien's doing a speech today." He couldn't hide his concern that his friend didn't recognise him. Mark regarded him for a long moment, the only sound his panted breath. He waved Abe off after a moment.

“R-Right, yes he told me that… he told me that. Always bu-sy that Damien he… I don't mind of- of course gives me time to think…uh…" Mark was recovering remarkably quickly, dropping his hands from his face and straightening his posture. Well, from the perspective of having presumed him to be dead, Mark’s recovery was beyond ‘remarkably quick’. “So of course… so you startled me- me, of course, didn't expect any-anyone to be he-re."

"You… recognise me right? Just, err, say who I am.” Abe wasn’t sure what sort of questions to ask in this situation. He was a detective, not a doctor. Generally, he arrived at the scene when the subject was dead and people in the general vicinity weren’t dealing with what he was currently dubbing ‘post-death syndrome’ in his mind. Mark paused, squinting at Abe for a moment before offering a ragged half smile.

“Abe. Abe Lincoln. Detective. Oh, buddy of mine!” Abe wasn’t exactly reassured by Mark’s sudden jolly attitude. “Course I know… know who you are! Doesn’t mean I was expecting you- you to be in the ba-athroom with me!” He continued to slur at Abe’s skeptical expression. 

“Mark, you’re half-seas over.” 

“May-Maybe I am? None of… None of your beeswax!” He responded, trying to keep a joyful expression on his face, as if this were their usual banter, although the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Mark, I think it fucking is! I thought you were dead!” He snaped, and Mark’s expression contorted to a scowl.

"We-ell that's your fucking fault then, isn't it? As you can clearly see I'm not dead! Your fault for fucking breaking into my home…what were you fucking expecting?" Mark had dropped his happy-go-lucky attitude. “How the flipping fuck did you even get into my house?” Abe didn’t mention the key still being under the tile in fear Mark would hide it.

"Well, I'm sorry I was concerned for your wellbeing! And I think that was justified considering all this shit!” Abe grimaced, shaking his head slightly, “I thought you’d committed suicide!” Mark froze, glancing down.

“Yeah, well, it was long too late to help with that.” He muttered, continuing before Abe can question it, eyes filled with malice. “I’m not a child. I’m dealing with this shit fine on my own, alright? Did you actually check for life signs? My pulse?” Abe was silent. “See? Making assumptions as per fucking usual! Terrible fucking detective! Look I just had too much jag juice and passed out on the bathroom floor! Everything’s jake.”

"That's malarkey, and you fucking know it!" Abe retorted, and Mark’s face contorts as he pushes himself away from the wall, standing shakily before him. “Drinking ‘till you look like a corpse isn’t jake!” Looking around the bathroom now the empty liquor bottles were more evident.

“Whaddya gonna do detective Abe? Arrest me?”

“Well, alcohol consumption is technically illegal. So, I could.” Silence. Mark shook himself off.

“No, you… you wouldn’t… Besides I’d just buy my way out! They’re all corrupts.”

"It would be a scandal. Your careers already in shambles, if it got out you were drinking to your death, it'd be a disaster."

“…y-you wouldn’t…” Abe sighed, trying to calm himself. This wasn’t helping Mark in the slightest.

“No, Mark, I wouldn’t. I don’t… I didn’t mean to threaten you… or get angry. I’m sorry. Just-“ He didn’t get time to continue, the apology flying over Mark’s head.

“H-Hell Abe you’re talking to the victim! If you’re gonna arrest someone…”

“-I wasn’t going to-“

"It should be fucking William! That bastard's caused nothing but trouble! I’m sure he’s done something you can lock him up for… he’s a shady little…” Mark ranted on, seemingly in his own little bubble.

“Mark.” He didn’t hear, rambling on spitefully. “Mark!” He fell quiet. “No ones getting arrested. I just wanted to talk…”

“Gah, now you sound just like Damien!” Abe struggled to contain his frustration.

“That’s because we both want to help you!”

“I don’t need help! Talking to William won’t do shit after what he’s done to me! You know what? Screw you! Go chase yourself! You’re on his side just like Dame!” Mark spat, baring his teeth.

"Mark I'm not on anyone's side… please, you know me…"

“Thinking I knew people’s what caused this mess! I told you to get out! So, get the fuck out!” Abe glanced over the room once more, Mark bristling at his hesitation to leave.

“Mark… it was just alcohol, right? You weren’t planning…”

"Oh, for heaven's sake! Fuck off about the whole death thing! I'm fine!" The reaction suggested he was anything but that. "No one's supposed to- to be here… please just get out!" Mark violently pushed him out the doorway, Abe staggering out into the hall, hitting his head against the wall. He recoiled and swore as the force caused him to bite his tongue, glancing up at Mark. The other man stood before him almost animalistic. “Tell Dame to fuck off too!”

“Mark we aren’t just abandoning you!” Abe began as a final ditch effort to sway him over. Mark growled, gritting his teeth as he glares him down. “Please, just talk to someone! Would you rather speak with Damien then me? I know he always seems busy, but he cares enough about you to at least try to-“

“I don’t want to talk to either of you assholes! I want you to fuck off!” Abe held his hands up in surrender, taking a few steps back down the hall.

“Alright… I’ll go…” He was mainly just scared that in whatever drunken state Mark was in, this might get violent. “Just… at least try to look after yourself. Celine wouldn’t want-“

“Shut the fuck up.”

"Alright." Abe finally admitted defeat. Mark had been like this ever since he'd been stuck alone in the mansion. Ill-tempered, riddled with moods swings and cryptic phrases. Abe didn’t know what to do. He was about to leave when Mark's eyes darkened. They bulged, crazed as they examined Abe in a new revelation. The corpse-like bags under them seemed frighteningly prominent. Abe could almost see the veins twisting under pale skin. Mark snarled, lunging forward, his ice-cold hands grabbing onto Abe tightly. Abe swore in surprise, tumbling back causing Mark to fall on top of him. In a rabid state, Mark pinned Abe's arms aside and grasped the key in his pocket before leaping to their feet.

“That’s how you two fuckers have been getting in! You must’ve stolen this!” Abe rapidly shook his head, backpedalling away before stumbling to his feet.

“Mark what the fuck! You know you left that as a spare key outside! We always used to use it… You remember that right?” Mark glanced him over, his shoulders dropping. He pocketed the key, sighing.

“O-Of course I remember. How could I forget?’ He mumbled more to himself, before scoffing. He snarled back at Abe, “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got it now, so get the fuck out of my house.” Mark didn’t have to ask twice, he clearly wasn’t in the right state of mind for a chat. 

The moment Abe was out of the manor he felt like an idiot. The building seemed to laugh at him as he retreated down the steps. Shame clutched onto his heart. The chill of the manor still clung to his bones. Why had he said all that shit to Mark? He had to have made it worse. He wasn’t thinking straight…

 

Abe knew Damien blamed him for losing the key. Now they had no contact with Mark.

 

It was a long while later when Mark reached out. He had planned a poker party and wanted Abe to check the butler and chef he had thought to hire. As a detective Abe had often been asked to do this in the past. Mark had appeared genuinely happy. He had claimed he'd had a long time to think things through. That he had planned that them all meeting up could help sort out the bad blood. He'd appeared almost giddy at the idea, Abe couldn't help reciprocating the feeling.

It had appeared everything was going to turn out alright.

 

How wrong he had been.


End file.
